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The sky of spice,
The sea of tea,
The skin of ginger and jasmine
I sip.
The clouds cinnamon-
Your eyes – sip me.
Two coffee pearls,
They never talk
they don’t do words,
Only – the music.
The symphony of cups and saucers,
The jazz of teapots,
The porcelain sonatas,
from the shore opposing –
I smell the 4 o’clock time,
I catch my wind from Cornwall:
red rose-hips, blue bells,
soft mint, silk poppies,
tender chamomile…
There is no other place I’d rather be.